“I am hungry.”
“Same difference.” I patted Ambrose’s shoulder. “You’re up first.”
“Excellent.” The shadow descended, his shape growing more defined than ever. “I need a moment.”
The quickness of his steps soon carried him from our sight, and I sent up a quick prayer for his success.
“Midas, trade bags with Remy.” I turned on the stairs. “Remy, you’re hanging back. Understand?”
Squaring her shoulders, Remy braced for an argument. “Are you out of your—?”
“You will keep the hearts up here,” I ordered her, “out of Natisha’s grabby hands.”
The gravity of the task, the trust it implied, snapped her mouth shut before more angry words escaped.
Without further hesitation, Midas slid the straps down his shoulders. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“Look,” Remy began. “I screwed up, okay? I know it, you know it, she knows it. You don’t have to rub it in, pretty boy.”
“I wasn’t questioning your loyalty.” He held the bag out to her. “I’m worried about your safety.”
“Oh,” she grumbled, trading packs with him. “I’ll be fine.”
“Watch your back.” I gestured to her sequined outfit. “And your front.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Leaving her behind, Midas and I began our final descent, our footsteps synced in an ominous march.
I wish Linus was here.
The thought was so random, I wanted to laugh. I did wish he was here. He would know what to do. He always knew what to do. He could fix this. He could save us. He could…
Frak.
When had I started idolizing Linus instead of fearing him?
Don’t get me wrong. His magic chilled me. His control over that much power terrified me. I had been on the wrong end of his scythe too many times to be comfortable with him in that area. But he had become my friend, a person I turned to for advice, a guy who would always be there for me, one who was willing to accept a black mark on his soul if it meant saving mine.
Obviously, I was never going to tell him or anyone else any of this. How awkward would that be? For both of us? Linus wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy. He would blush, stammer, then vanish into his shadowy cowl to escape the embarrassment of my praise.
Humility was a great attribute in a guy who, along with his fiancée, wielded enough power to take over the world if they ever got bored enough.
And I was compartmentalizing again.
Gah.
I hated when my brain took vacations without filling out the proper paperwork.
The staircase began to widen about the time the chant slurred into a litany of groans and moans.
Ambrose was feeding, and he was feeding well.
The build of pressure within me fell somewhere on the scale between the first and second faegate takedowns. I could bear it, but it wasn’t comfortable. Midas must be crawling in his skin.
We reached the bottom, and I couldn’t stop the grimace when I spotted the scattering of young women who had fallen at Natisha’s feet. They had fought Ambrose to protect her, but they were no match for him.
Hair as red as wet blood spilled down Natisha’s back, and the farthest reaches of eternity filled her eyes with a darkness no emotion could permeate. Her smile, when it came, was a cold, reptilian thing.
Midas and I stepped onto the uneven stone together and waited for her to acknowledge us.
“You failed to fulfill your end of the bargain.” Natisha measured us. “Your hands are empty.”
Done with his meal, Ambrose came to stand beside me, his essence throbbing with pent-up energy.
“We have six hearts.” He fixated on the fallen woman nearest him. “We only need one more.”
“That would make us square.” I played along with my darker half. “You’re here to bear witness, which means I can place the last heart in your hands before it stops beating. What do you think?”
“You wouldn’t dare.” She sneered at me. “You are too soft.”
“Try me.” I gestured to Ambrose, and he passed me my swords. “I’m in a rush, so decide quickly.”
“Your city will fall.” A smile ripened her lips. “Your people will burn.”
“Nah.” I shrugged off her prophesy of doom. “We’ll be fine.”
I had to believe that was true in order to make it across the finish line.
“There are twelve witchborn fae here.” I crossed to the nearest one. “That’s plenty. I’ll even let you pick which one dies.”
“You have failed.” A flush of anger swept through her, scorching in its intensity. “Submit.”
“I’m not much into submission.” I flexed my fingers on their hilts. “It’s not my thing.”
“One heart is as good as the next.” Midas flicked his wrist. “Kill that one and be done with it.”
“I like the way you think.” I positioned the tip of one sword over the heart of the nearest woman. “Sorry about this.” I ignored the lurch in my gut and pressed until blood stained her shirt. “Nothing personal.”
“Stop.” Natisha stepped forward. “Leave these women unharmed.”
“Why?” I applied more pressure. “What makes them so special?”
Natisha wasn’t the kind to stir herself on someone else’s behalf.
Unless there was something in it for her.
Something big.
From the corner of my eye, I spotted Midas flaring his nostrils, breathing in their scent. “They’re yours.”
“As in her offspring?” I studied their faces. “They do look awful similar, don’t they?”
With their faces slack and their uniform of dark pants, shirt, and cloak, I hadn’t noticed the resemblance.
Keeping my blade right where it was, I wondered, “Doesn’t a fae mother and witch father make them faeborn witches?”
“Does it matter?” Midas locked his gaze on her. “They’re all the same.”
“Yeah.” I twisted my handle. “You’re probably right.”
It wasn’t like they were first cousins or anything, but these women were related to Midas, and I wasn’t sure how he would feel about us doing what must be done to survive this confrontation. There was no love lost between him and Natisha, who had let him be sold to the goblin rather than claim kinship and spare him, but these women had no part in that. They were far too young, or so they appeared to me.
Even that assumption was a deadly one. I couldn’t afford sentimentality. Not now. Not with them.
The scream Natisha unleashed as I dug into her daughter’s flesh left my ears ringing.
“Why did you want the hearts?” I gave her a moment to answer, and when she didn’t, I applied more pressure. “Why ask us for what you had on hand in endless supply?”
“Cruelty?” Ambrose suggested. “Pettiness?” He chuckled. “No? What cause then, for your treachery?”
“I swore an oath to the girls’ father,” Natisha growled, “who was a member of the witchborn fae coven, that in exchange for his seed, I would not harm him or his. I could not harvest them for myself without breaking my word.”